‘What sawe thou there?’ seyde the kynge.
‘Sir,’ he seyde, ‘ I saw nothyng but wawis and wyndys.’
‘That ys untruly seyde of the,’ seyde the kynge. ‘And therefore go thou lyghtly agayne, and do my commaundemente; as thou arte to me lyff and dere, spare nat, but throw hit in.’
Than sir Bedwere returned agayne and toke the swerde in hys honde; and yet hym thought synne and shame to throw away that noble swerde. And so effte he hyd the swerde and returned agayne and tolde the kynge that he had bene at the watir and done hys commaundement.
‘What sawist thou there?’ seyde the kynge.
‘Sir,’ he seyde, ‘I sy nothynge but watirs wap and wawys wanne.”A, traytour unto me and untrew,’ seyde kyng Arthure, ‘now hast thou betrayed me twyse! Who wolde wene that thou that hast bene to me so leve and dere, and also named so noble a knyght, that thou wolde betray me for the ryches of thys swerde? But now go agayn lyghtly; for thy longe taryynge puttith me in grete jouperté of my lyff, for I have takyn colde. And but if thou do now as I bydde the, if ever I may se the, I shall sle the myne owne hondis, for thou woldist for my rych swerde se me dede.’
Than sir Bedwere departed and wente to the swerde and lyghtly toke hit up, and so he wente unto the watirs syde. And there he bounde the gyrdyll aboute the hyltis, and threw the swerde as farre into the watir as he myght. And there cam an arme and an honde above the watir, and toke hit and cleyght hit, and shoke hit thryse and braundysshed, and than vanysshed with the swerde into the watir.
So sir Bedyvere cam agayne to the kynge and tolde hym what he saw.
‘Alas,’ seyde the kynge, ‘helpe me hens, for I drede me I have taryed over longe.’
Than sir Bedwere toke the kynge uppon hys bak and so wente with hym to the watirs syde. And whan they were there, evyn faste by the banke hoved a lytyll barge wyth many fayre ladyes in hit, and amonge hem all was a quene, and all they had blak hoodis. And all they wepte and shryked whan they saw kynge Arthur.
‘Now put me into that barge,’ seyde the kynge.
And so he ded sofftely, and there resceyved hym three ladyes with grete mournyng. And so they sette he m d owne, and in one of their lappis kyng Arthure layde hys hede. And than the quene sayde, ‘A, my dere brothir! Why have ye taryed so longe frome me? Alas, thys wounde on youre hede hath caught overmuch coulde!’
And anone they rowed fromward the londe, and sir Bedyvere behylde all the ladyes go frowarde hym. Than sir Bedwere cryed and seyde, ‘A, my lorde Arthur, what shall becom of me, now ye go frome me and leve me here alone amonge myne enemyes?’
‘Comforte thyselff,’ seyde the kynge, ‘and do as well as thou mayste, for in me ys no truste for to truste in. For I muste into the vale of Avylyon to hele me of my grevous wounde. And if thou here nevermore of me, pray for my soule!’
But ever the quene and ladyes wepte and shryked, that hit was pité to hyre. And as sone as sir Bedwere had loste the syght of the barge he wepte and wayled, and so toke the foreste and wente all that nyght.
And in the mornyng he was ware, betwyxte two holtis hore, of a chapell and an ermytage. Than was sir Bedwere fayne, and thyder he [6] wente, and whan he cam into the chapell he saw where lay an ermyte grovelynge on all four, faste thereby a tumbe was newe gravyn. Whan the ermy te saw sir Bedyvere he knewe hym well, for he was but lytyll tofore Bysshop of Caunturbery that sir Mordred fleamed.
‘Sir,’ seyde sir Bedyvere, ‘what man ys there here entyred that ye pray so faste fore?’
‘Fayre sunne,’ seyde the ermyte, ‘I wote nat veryly but by demynge. But thys same nyght, at mydnyght, here cam a numbir of ladyes and brought here a dede corse and prayde me to entyre hym. And here they offird an hondred tapers, and they gaff me a thousande besauntes.’
‘Alas!’ seyde sir Bedyvere,’that was my lorde kynge Arthur, whych lyethe here gravyn in thys chapell.’
Than sir Bedwere sowned, and whan he awooke he prayde the ermyte that he myght abyde with hym stylle, there to lyve with fastynge and prayers:
‘For from hens woll I never go,’ seyde sir Bedyvere, ‘be my wyll, but all the dayes of my lyff here to pray for my lorde Arthur.’
‘Sir, ye ar wellcom to me,’ seyde the ermyte, ‘for I know you bettir than ye wene that I do: for ye ar sir Bedwere the Bolde, and the full noble duke sir Lucan de Butler was your brother.’
Than sir Bedwere tolde the ermyte all as ye have harde tofore, and so he belaffte with the ermyte that was beforehande Bysshop of Caunturbyry. And there sir Bedwere put uppon hym poure clothys, and served the ermyte full lowly in fastyng and in prayers.
Thus of Arthur I fynde no more wrytten in bokis that bene auctorysed, nothir more of the verry sertaynté of hys deth harde I never rede, but thus was he lad away in a shyp wherein were three quenys; that one was kynge Arthur syster, quene Morgan le Fay, the tother was the quene of North Galis, and the thirde was the quene of the Waste Londis.
Also there was dame Nynyve, the chyff lady of the laake, whych had wedded sir Pellyas, the good knyght; and thys lady had done muche for kynge Arthure. And thys dame Nynyve wolde never suffir sir Pelleas to be in no place where he shulde be in daungere of hys lyff, and so he lyved unto the uttermuste of hys dayes with her in grete reste.
Now more of the deth of kynge Arthur coude I never fynde, but that thes ladyes brought hym to hys grave, and such one was entyred there whych the ermyte bare wytnes that sometyme was Bysshop of Caunterbyry. But yet the ermyte knew nat in sertayne that he was veryly the body of kynge Arthur; for thys tale sir Bedwere, a knyght of the Table Rounde, made hit to be wrytten.
Y et som men say in many p art ys of Inglonde that kynge Arthur [7] ys nat dede, but had by the wyll of oure Lorde Jesu into another place; and men say that he shall com agayne, and he shall wynne the Holy Crosse. Yet I woll nat say that hit shall be so, but rather I wolde sey: here in thys worlde he chaunged hys lyff. And many men say that there ys wrytten uppon the tumbe thys:
HIC IACET ARTHURUS, REX QUONDAM REXQUE FUTURUS
And thus leve I here sir Bedyvere with the ermyte that dwelled that tyme in a chapell besydes Glassyngbyry, and there was hys ermytage. And so they lyved in prayers and fastynges and grete abstynaunce.
And whan quene Gwenyver undirstood that kynge Arthure was dede and all the noble knyghtes, sir Mordred and all the remanaunte, than she stale away with fyve ladyes with her, and so she wente to Amysbyry. And there she lete make herselff a nunne, and wered whyght clothys and blak, and grete penaunce she toke uppon her, as ever ded synfull woman in thys londe. And never creature coude make her myry, but ever she lyved in fastynge, prayers, and almesdedis, that all maner of people mervayled how vertuously she was chaunged.
V. THE DOLOROUS DEATH AND DEPARTING OUT OF THIS WORLD OF SIR LAUNCELOT AND QUEEN GUINEVERE
Now leve we the quene in Amysbery, a nunne in whyght clothys and black — and there she was abbas and rular, as reson w olde — and now turne we from her and speke we of sir Launcelot du Lake,8 that whan he harde in hys contrey that sir Mordred was crowned kynge in Inglonde and made warre ayenst kyng Arthur, hys owne fadir, and wolde lette hym to londe in hys owne londe also hit was tolde hym how sir Mordred had leyde a syge aboute the Towre of London, bycause the quene wold nat wed de hym, than was — sir Launcelot wrothe oute of mesure and seyde to hys kynnesmen, ‘Alas! that double traytoure, sir Mordred, now me rep entith that ever he escaped my hondys, for much shame hath he done unto my lorde Arthure. For I fele b y th ys dolefull letter that sir Gawayne sente me, on whos soule Jesu have mercy, that my lorde Arthur ys full harde bestad. Alas,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘that ever I shulde lyve to hyre of that moste noble kynge that made me knyght thus to be oversette with hys subjette in hys owne realme! And this dolefull lettir that my lorde sir Gawayne hath sente me afore hys dethe, praynge me to se hys tumbe, wyte you well hys doleffull wordes shall never go frome my harte. For he was a full noble knyght as ever was born! And in an unhappy owre was I born that ever I shulde have that myssehappe to sle firste sir Gawayne, s
ir Gaherys, the good knyght, and myne owne frynde sir Gareth that was a full noble knyght. Now, alas, I may sey I am unhappy that ever I shulde do thus. And yet, alas, myght I never have hap to sle that traytoure, sir Mordred!’
‘Now leve youre complayntes,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘and firste revenge you of the dethe of sir Gawayne, on whos soule Jesu have mercy! And hit woll be well done that ye se hys tumbe, and secundly that ye revenge my lorde Arthur and my lady quene Gwenyver.’
‘I thanke you,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘for ever ye woll my worshyp.’ Than they made hem redy in all haste that myght be, with shyppis and galyes, with hym and hys oste to pas into Inglonde. And so at the laste he cam to Dover, and there he landed with seven kyngis, and the numbir was hedeous to beholde.
Than sir Launcelot spyrred of men of Dover where was the kynge becom. And anone the people tolde hym how he was slayne and sir Mordred to, with an hondred thousand that dyed uppon a day; and how sir Mordred gaff kynge Arthur the first batayle there at hys londynge, and there was sir Gawayne slayne: ‘And uppon the morne sir Mordred faught with the kynge on Baram Downe, and the re the kyng put sir Mordred to the wars.’
‘Alas,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘thys is the hevyest tydyngis that ever cam to my harte! Now, f ayre sirres,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘shew me the tumbe of sir Gawayne.’
And anone he was brought into the castel of Dover, and so they shewed hym the tumbe. Than sir Launcelot kneled downe by the tumbe and wepte, and prayde hartely for hys soule.
And that nyght he lete make a dole, and all that wolde com of the towne or of the contrey they had as much fleyssh and fysshe and wyne and ale, and every man and woman he dalt to twelve pence, com whoso wolde. Thus with hys owne honde dalte he thys money, in a mournyng gown; and ever he wepte hartely and prayde the people to pray for the soule of sir Gawayne.
And on the morn all the prystes and clarkes that myght be gotyn in the contrey and in the town were there, and sange massis of Requiem. And there offird first sir Launcelot, and he offird an hondred pounde, and than the seven kynges offirde, and every of them offirde fourty pounde. Also there was a thousand knyghtes, and every of them offirde a pounde; and the offeryng dured fro the morne to nyght.
And there sir Launcelot lay two nyghtes uppon hys tumbe in prayers and in dolefull wepyng. Than, on the thirde day, sir Launcelot called the kyngis, deukes, and erlis, with the barownes and all hys noble knyghtes, and seyde thus:
‘My fayre lordis, I thanke you all of youre comynge into thys contrey with me. But wyte you well all, we ar com to late, and that shall repente me whyle I lyve, but ayenste deth may no man rebell. But sytthyn hit ys so,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘I woll myselffe ryde and syke my lady, quene Gwenyver. For, as I here sey, she hath had grete payne and muche disease, and I here say that she ys fledde into the weste. And therefore ye all shall abyde me here, and but if I com agayne within thes fyftene dayes, take youre shyppis and youre felyship and departe into youre contrey, for I woll do as I sey y ou.’ Than cam sir Bors and seyde, ‘My lorde, sir Launcelot, what [9] thynke ye for to do, now for to ryde in thys realme? Wyte you well ye shall do fynde feaw fryndis.’
‘Be as be may as for that,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘kepe you stylle here, for I woll furthe on my journey, and no man nor chylde shall go with me.’
So hit was no boote to stryve, but he departed and rode westirly; and there he sought a seven or eyght dayes. And at the laste he cam to a nunry, and anone quene Gwenyver was ware of sir Launcelot as she walked in the cloyster. And anone as she saw hym there, she sowned thryse, that all ladyes and jantyllwomen had worke inowghe to holde the quene frome the erthe. So whan she myght speke she called her ladyes and jantillwomen to her, and than she sayde thus: ‘Ye mervayle, fayre ladyes, why I make thys fare. Truly,’ she seyde, ‘hit ys for the syght of yondir knyght that yondir stondith. Wherefore I pray you calle hym hyddir to me.’
Than sir Launcelot was brought before her; than the quene seyde to all the ladyes, Thorow thys same man and me hath all thys warre be wrought, and the deth of the moste nobelest knyghtes of the worlde; for thorow oure love that we have loved togydir ys my moste noble lorde slayne. Therefore, sir Launcelot, wyte thou well I am sette in suche a plyght to gete my soule rhelel And yet I truste, thorow Godais grace and thorow Hys Passion of Hys woundis wyde, that aftir my deth I may have a syght of the blyssed face of Cryste Jesu, and on Doomesday to sytte on Hys ryght syde; f or as synfull as ever I was, now ar seyntes in hevyn. And therefore, sir Launcelot, I requyre the and beseche the hardly, for all the love that ever was betwyxt us, that thou never se me no more in the visayge. And I commaunde the, on Goddis behalff, that thou forsake my company. And to thy kyngedom loke thou turne agayne, and kepe well thy realme frome warre and wrake, for as well as I have loved the heretofore, myne har te woll nat serve now to se the; for thorow the and me ys the f lou re of kyngis and knyghtes destroyed. And therefore go thou to thy realme, and there take ye a wyff, and lyff with hir wyth joy and blys. A nd I pray the hartely to pray for me to the Everlastynge Lorde that I may amende my mysselyvyng.’
‘Now, my swete madame,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘wolde ye that I shuld turne agayne unto my contrey, and there to wedde a lady? Nay, madame, wyte you well that shall I never do, for I shall never be so false unto you of that I have promysed. But the selff desteny that ye have takyn you to, I woll take me to, for the pleasure of Jesu, and ever for you I caste me specially to pray.’
‘A, sir Launcelot, if ye woll do so, holde thy promyse! But I may never beleve you,’ seyde the quene, ‘but that ye woll turne to the worlde agayne.’
‘Well, madame,’ seyde he, ‘ye say as hit pleasith you, for yet wyste ye me never false of my promyse. And God deffende but that I shulde forsake the worlde as ye have done! For in the queste of the Sankgreall I had that tyme forsakyn the vanytees of the worlde, had nat youre love bene. And if I had done so at that tyme with my harte, wylle, and thought, I had passed all the knyghtes that ever were in the Sankgreall excepte syr Galahad, my sone. And therefore, lady, sythen ye have taken you to perfeccion, I must nedys take me to perfection, of ryght. For I take recorde of God, in you I have had myn erthly joye, and yf I had founden you now so dysposed, I had caste me to have had you into myn owne royame. But sythen I [10] fynde you thus desposed, I ensure you faythfully, I wyl ever take me to penaunce and praye whyle my lyf lasteth, yf that I may fynde ony heremyte, other graye or whyte, that wyl receyve me. Wherefore, madame, I praye you kysse me, and never no more.’
‘Nay,’ sayd the quene, ‘that shal I never do, but absteyne you from suche werkes.’
And they departed; but there was never so harde an herted man but he wold have wepte to see the dolour that they made, for there was lamentacyon as they had be stungyn wyth sperys, and many tymes they swouned. And the ladyes bare the quene to hir chambre.
And syr Launcelot awok, and went and took his hors, and rode al that day and al nyght in a forest, wepyng. And atte last he was ware of an ermytage and a chappel stode betwyxte two clyffes, and than he harde a lytel belle rynge to masse. And thyder he rode and alyght, and teyed his hors to the gate, and herd masse.
And he that sange masse was the Bysshop of Caunterburye. Bothe the Bysshop and sir Bedwer knewe syr Launcelot, and they spake togyders after masse. But whan syr Bedwere had tolde his tale al hole, syr Launcelottes hert almost braste for sorowe, and sir Launcelot threwe hys armes abrode, and sayd, ‘Alas! Who may truste thys world?’
And than he knelyd doun on his knee and prayed the Bysshop to shryve hym and assoyle hym; and than he besought the Bysshop that he myght be hys brother. Than the Bysshop sayd, ‘I wyll gladly,’ and there he put an habyte upon syr Launcelot. And there he servyd God day and nyght with prayers and fastynges.
Thus the grete hoost abode at Dover. And than sir Lyonel toke fyftene lordes with hym and rode to London to seke sir Launcelot; and there syr Lyonel was slayn and many of his lordes. Thenne syr Bors de Ganys made the grete hoost for to goo hoome ageyn, and syr Boors, syr Ector de Maris, s
yr Blamour, syr Bleoboris, with moo other of syr Launcelottes kynne, toke on hem to ryde al Englond overthwart and endelonge to seek syr Launcelot.
So syr Bors by fortune rode so longe tyl he came to the same chapel where syr Launcelot was. And so syr Bors herde a lytel belle knylle that range to masse, and there he alyght and herde masse. And whan masse was doon, the Bysshop, syr Launcelot and sir Bedwere came to syr Bors, and whan syr Bors sawe sir Launcelot in that maner clothyng, than he preyed the Bysshop that he myght be in the same sewte. And so there was an habyte put upon hym, and there he lyved in prayers and fastyng.
And wythin halfe a yere there was come syr Galyhud, syr Galyhodyn, sir Blamour, syr Bleoberis, syr Wyllyars, syr Clarrus, and sir Gahallantyne. So al these seven noble knyghtes there abode styll. And whan they sawe syr Launcelot had taken hym to suche perfeccion they had no lust to departe but toke suche an habyte as he had.
Thus they endured in grete penaunce syx yere. And than syr Launcelot took th’ abyte of preesthode of the Bysshop, and a twelvemonthe he sange masse. And there was none of these other knyghtes but they redde in bookes and holpe for to synge masse, and range bellys, and dyd lowly al maner of servyce. And soo their horses wente where they wolde, for they toke no regarde of no worldly rychesses; for whan they sawe syr Launcelot endure suche penaunce in prayers and fastynges they toke no force what payne they endured, for to see the nobleste knyght of the world take such abstynaunce that he waxed ful lene.
And thus upon a nyght there came a vysyon to syr Launcelot and charged hym, in remyssyon of his synnes, to haste hym unto Almysbury: ‘And by thenne thou come there, thou shalt fynde quene Guenever dede. And therefore take thy felowes with the, and purvey them of an hors-bere, and fetche thou the cors of hir, and burye hir by her husbond, the noble kyng Arthur.’
Complete Works of Sir Thomas Malory Page 99